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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(n)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
The little rat did not so much as feel warmth on
the bridge as he felt the lack of the
life-stealing cold. Nothing surrounded him for a
moment and even though he was only a hand tall
this bridge seemed no larger than the others. His
whiskers twitched and he breathed a long sigh of
relief which turned into a coughing spasm. His
thumbless paws rubbed across his snout and
brushed free the encrusted blood, even as the
presence of his guide appeared on the bridge.
Qan-af-årael smiled down at him from a distorted
height. From the folds of his elegant robes he
produced the rat's meager garments. Are you
well, Charles? To hear his voice in his ears
instead of his mind made him squeak in surprise.
Charles willed himself to grow and his body
swelled, shifting proportions, straightening his
back. When his thumbs returned, he grasped his
breeches and held them before his waist for
modesty. His bare chest rose and fell as he
attained his full height, still looking up at the
Åelf but not nearly as far. I am whole. And I am
very grateful for your protection. I know that I
could not have come this far on my own. How much torment remains?
Four realms more you must cross before the
Beyond can be reached. Any souls you meet in
these realms will be far more evil and corrupted
by sin. You will have no friends below. This
last was said with an almost apologetic sigh, as
if the Åelf thought himself responsible for the
composition of the daedra realms and the souls trapped within.
Charles stepped into the breeches and pulled them
to his waist. He cinched them with his belt, a
pensive claw rubbing across the rat-head buckler
I haven't had any friends since the Gardens save
you. He grimaced but offered his guardian a
lop-sided grin that stretched his snout and
jumbled his whiskers. Thank you again for
helping me. He pulled the tunic over his snout before he said anything more.
I will protect you and bring you where you must
go, Qan-af-årael assured him. After all that
you have done to aid my people and save our
world, how could I do less? Such base ingratitude
is a terrible injustice toward one such as yourself, Charles.
Charles shimmed into his tunic and then donned
his vest. He checked his gear, found the
Sondeshike where he had kept it inside a secret
fold, and rubbed it between his fingers. Thank
you again. What must we face now?
The Lord of Rage, Qan-af-årael replied with a
veneer of disgust. You will need your weapon.
Charles took his torn Long Scout cloak and threw
it across his shoulders; it brushed over the
rat's ears as it settled against his back. More
creatures like the Gardeners, or those things we saw in the forest?
Worse things than they await us below.
He swallowed and flicked his tail. Of course.
Charles pulled the Sondeshike from its place
within his tunic and extended it. The ferrules
snapped out to either side, but did not fully
extend. It appeared that they had struck
something immovable, but all that the rat could
discern was the curving boundary to the bridge.
They could not extend because there was no
reality into which they could reach. Through his
weapon Charles had touched an edge of creation.
Unsettled, the rat turned the Sondeshike
sideways; the staff extended the rest of the way
along-side him. He ground his molars together and
wished for something to chew as he walked down
the bridge. The optical distortion rushed to meet
him as everything shrunk to a single point. And then he stepped through.
A snarling noise rose up around him as he fell to
all fours, the Sondeshike still gripped in his
hand. He lifted his head and blinked at the
shifting of fiery red fur and rippling muscles
that surrounded him. The muscles twisted, each
attached to four legs which ended in paws with
sickle-sharp claws, as they turned to reveal
monstrous dog heads lathered in saliva with fangs
so large they could never close their jaws. Their
eyes were black as coals and burning with anger and hunger.
Charles felt their breath strike him like a muddy
field after a brutal battle in which bodies had
been left to rot. Boxy snouts snarled and snapped
at the rat as he scrambled to his feet and leaped backward.
Standing, Charles was finally able to make sense
of what he saw. Before him, standing nearly as
tall as he did, were six infernal hounds. Spiked
collars of black iron were fastened around each
of their necks, and the chains disappeared he
knew not where. Slavering jaws snapped at him,
heavy paws dug into the ground and launched them forward.
Charles lifted the Sondeshike and spun it as fast
as he could before him. The nearest of the hounds
struck the spinning disc with its ravenous snout.
Bones cracked as his momentum scuttled him
sideways, his face caved inward where it had been
struck. Yet still the beast rose, blood frothing
forth in a mist as it scrapped its claws over caked stone.
The hounds bounced on their paws, moving around
him to attack from either side. Charles stepped
back to keep himself from being surrounded,
shifting the spinning disc from side to side as
he tried to decide on what else to do. He
summoned forth his Sondeck, willing it to fill
his arms and legs as he danced on his paws looking for a way out.
A second hound lunged from his right as he turned
aside. Had he been human he would not have seen
the attack, but as a rat his eyes were better
placed to see what happened at either side and
even a little bit behind. He side-stepped,
lashing his tail toward the left even as he drove
the tip of his Sondeshike into the face of his
attacker. The brass ferrules smashed into the
hound's forehead, caving it inward with a
sickening crunch. Blood and gore spewed through
the open jaws only to be turned into a fine mist
where Charles spun his Sondeshike through what
was left of the hound's jaws and upper body. The
bones snapped and the muscles fell to paroxysms
as the creature was knocked aside. And yet it too
climbed back to its feet, the ruin of its head
disorienting it but otherwise availing the rat nothing.
The other four hounds bounded away from him for a
moment before rushing to encircle him. Charles
tried to find some place he could escape, but
there did not appear to be anywhere he could go.
For the first time, in that brief moment when
their hideous jaws were not snapping at him, the
rat could glimpse at the desolate land to which
he had come. Light suffused the place, and an
uncomfortable heat permeated everything, but it
was not a desert sun crisping his skin. Rather it
was the blaze of a flame that breathed across the
sky; all of the land lay scorched and appeared to
be nothing more than a maze of jagged red rocks.
The red was not the mesmerizing glow of a warm
fire, nor was it the delicate sensuous hue of a
Spring rose in full bloom. This was no twilight
sun kissing the horizon, nor was it the amorous
rouge of his wife's tongue reaching to kiss him.
This red had no royal aspirations, had no
clerical dignity, and no use to heraldry. It was
not even the color of blood spilled from a wound.
Those were all reds Charles knew. Most of them were reds he loved.
This red was neither.
This red was putrid and formed by the spilling,
the baking, the burning, the freezing, and the
cracking of blood over ages uncountable. This was
blood dried upon the rocks, pounded by foot, hoof
and paw, beaten and slavered by parched tongues,
ground beneath all until it had become the very
dust of the air. This red was that dust of blood
bound together, forged and fused until it rose up
as the very rocks upthrust in every direction.
The sinew of the realm beneath his feet was
fashioned from this beaten, crushed, pulverized,
and reformed blood. Drained of all its potency,
there was nothing left but desiccation; a barren
red fed only by the endless effusion of dismemberment.
No paint could make this red and no ink could
illuminate it. No wine could be soiled as this.
His heart beat with fury at the mere sight of it;
at the sight of the bloodstone.
While the two injured hounds shook their heads
about as if they could force the bones and
muscles back into place, the other four
surrounded the rat and snarled, licking their
jowls, posture tensed. Charles danced back and
forth, keeping his Sondeshike spinning as fat as
he could. He willed his Sondeck into his tail and
lashed it about, sending little strikes through
the air to slow them down. He knew he could
probably crush two more heads before the other
two would be on him and it would be over. He
could only hope that they attacked one at a time.
He had no such luck. All four charged as one.
Charles stood in the very center and spun on his
paws, eyes narrowed, entering the Tanze wie
Zherd. The dance could only properly be done with
two Sondeckis, but it was the only thing he knew
that would allow him to strike in all directions.
He turned and turned and turned, hands spinning
one over the other, as the silver disc ran
through the air, kicking up a red dust that
enfolded him in a crimson pillar of choking air.
All of the world about him, barren and dangerous, skipped by in a flash.
The hounds crashed into his Sondeshike. He felt
more than saw as the first one was clipped on the
side of the neck by the end of the metal staff,
the bones shattering and the body flung outward
in a heap of scarlet fur and claws. The second
nearly snatched his tail in its jaws when the
staff crashed down into its head, pushed through
the flesh, and ripped the jaws apart in a spray
of ichor. From the third he felt stinking hot
breath and then the Sondeshike lifted it up from
beneath its forelimbs and flung it, chest caved in, out across the rocks.
He even managed to strike the fourth, but not
before its momentum crashed into his side and
knocked him from his paws. Charles sprawled from
the Tanze and struck the earth so hard that the
cloud of red coated him in a fine mist. He gasped
for breath and choked on the dust, his hands
clawing at his neck as if they could rip out all
the poisoned air. He forced himself to grab his
Sondeshike with his right hand even as the left
continued to dig, choking and coughing for a single breath of pure air.
The sixth hound limped as the Sondeshike had
shattered one of its back legs, but the jaws, the
head, and the chest were all fine. Yellowed fangs
dripped with spittle, and a meaty red tongue
pressed out between those fangs, eyes burning
with hunger. It stepped toward him, confident
that Charles could do nothing more to stop him.
Beside the hound the first two he'd injured rose
up, their faces reforming, their wounds mending.
Charles stared in horror but could not make his
arms work. The three beasts stepped closer, snarling and ready to feast.
A brilliant plume of green light struck downward
from the side, and the lead hound's head bounced
across the ground as its body fell to pieces
behind it. Stepping out from behind a stand of
rocks was Qan-af-årael, bearing in each hand a
blade of brilliant green that bifurcated like a
vast tree. Charles remembered seeing those same
blades in the Hall of Unearthly Light when he had
done battle with the Marquis. Then he had been
matched by a foe of limitless power and the
blades had only managed to dissipate the
Marquis's attacks. Never before had he seen their true potential.
The other two hounds bayed, turning to attack the
interloper, but were themselves reduced to slices
of flesh that did not even bleed. The remaining
three hounds, each of them in varying states of
recovery, tried to circle this new bit of prey
like they had Charles moments before. As the rat
continued to hack, eyes glazing over from the
bitter poison, all three advanced with powerful leaps.
The Åelf lifted his arboreal blades and skewered
two of them. Their flesh bounced from his chest
and legs in chunks, carried forward only by their
momentum. The third hound was only grazed, not
from a lack of skill on Qan-af-årael's part, but
only because its wounds kept it from leaping
true; this final beast had veered off course and
fell to the ground with a snarling yipe and half
its tail missing, before turning tail and fleeing
into a cleft in the maze of rocks.
The brilliant green light of the tree blades
vanished from the Åelf's hands, replaced by a
pulsing orb of blue. Unlike the red all around,
the blue was a pleasant blend like a carefully
polished bit of lapis lazuli in the process of
melting. Qan-af-årael extended this orb in his
arm and then dropped it on the ground in front of
the gagging rat. It splashed and erupted a gust
of sweet air. The blood dust lifted from the
ground and scattered in every direction. Even the
dust in his throat was drawn free.
Charles gulped the sweet tasting air. The
panicked trembling of his limbs subsided, and
after several deep breaths he stood, clutching
his Sondeshike close. You saved me again. Thank
you, ancient one. I am in your debt more times than I can count.
You may have the chance to repay a portion of
that debt here. Everything we see will try to kill us.
Charles grimaced and nudged a hunk of scorched
flesh with his toes. Blood a dull red in hue
oozed from every side. Can we avoid them? I don't see anything else here.
It is better to kill anything we find.
The rat frowned and held his Sondeshike tighter.
But won't it attract attention if we are
constantly fighting everything we see?
In this realm, the surest way to draw the
attention of its master is not to fight. He will
not care who we are so long as we fight and
kill. Qan-af-årael's expression was touched by a
glimmer of profound disgust. At least until we reach the bridge.
The rat lifted his ears in hope. You know where it is?
I do. It will not be easy to reach. Charles, are
you prepared to kill anything you see in this
place? There is no quarter offered, no mercy
shown, and no victims here. Strike without anger,
for rage is what the master of this place wants, but strike nonetheless.
He swallowed and nodded. If I must. What of the hound who got away?
The hound is returning to its master.
Qan-af-årael gestured to a small cleft between
the rocks. Without sun in the bloodshot sky, it
was impossible to tell the difference between any
direction. We must move quickly before they
return. And then he felt the presence resume in
his mind. And for now you will wish only to speak
in this fashion. The air is poison; cover your snout.
Charles nodded and drew his cloak over his snout.
It felt awkward, but at least he could breathe.
His protector led him down into the cleft which
twisted in either direction for a few minutes as
if trying to shake them off before straightening
and opening out onto a jagged tumble of hard, red
rock between ridges on either side. Charles eyed
them warily. His ears and whiskers twitched at
the sound of snarling and anguished screaming
that carried over the almost serrated saw-like
bluffs accompanied by rending and gnashing of
fangs of a more beastly character. Who was
killing who and what? The rat neither knew nor wished to know.
The ridge to their right grew in size until it
stretched into the murky scorched air, lost to
sight amidst choking clouds. To their left, the
labyrinth of crimson stone fell away to reveal a
long slope toward a chasm. Charles sucked in his
breath at the sight of the precipice which
stretched at least a league in width if not more,
and whose bottom was imperceptible and swallowed
in darkness. Equally forbidding peaks rose beyond
the chasm, crater-domed volcanoes busily spewing
ash and disgorging streams of blazing lava. A
faint echo cast across the chasm, and his ears
turned to catch its receding touch.
More screams.
Qan-af-årael turned to him and his thoughts
coalesced in words. It is as you fear. Souls
cooked in the lava before being consumed by the lord of this realm's minions.
For once I am glad a rat's eyes cannot see that
far. Charles almost spat the thought toward his
companion, and then grimaced as he fought the
rising of his gorge. He tasted the red dust on
his tongue and grimaced. At least it did not seem to choke him anymore.
The path sloped toward the chasm but they cut
across near the escarpment on their right. The
heat from the volcanoes cooked the air, and the
ash made it even more difficult to breath.
Charles focused his thoughts on moving forward
and breathing as slowly as he could. Still his
heart would not settle; the disquiet made his
claws twitch and dig into his cloak.
The attack came without warning. The escarpment
did not run in a clean line along the top of the
defile, but was riddled with alcoves and jutting
rock that forced them to risk the steep incline
above the yawning abyss. As they navigated around
one such bend, from the rocks above leaped a trio
of shapes that landed on their backs and sent
them sprawling. Charles slammed snout first into
the stone, his arms and legs scratching at the
stone as it slid past, little pebbles hammering
his chest and legs as he careened down the
defile. Something blunt beat at his back and between his ears.
An upthrust stone caught him in the side. He
wrapped one arm about it and rolled upward. The
thing on his back snatched a meaty hand at his
cloak, ripping the front from his snout and
pulling the clasp tight against his neck. Charles
gagged, inhaling a mouthful of the red dust, even
as his free hand searched for his Sondeshike. He
caught a glance of Qan-af-årael throwing a red
and black striped almost Lutin-like creature from
his shoulders, the lanky creature vanishing with
a wail over the side of the chasm, while another
had its baboon-like arms firmly wrapped about his protector's legs.
The creature hanging on by his cloak dug its feet
into the ground, found purchase, and began
climbing up the rat's back. He felt a gust of
hot, putrid breath stream across the back of his
neck. Charles' shivered in fury; his tail lashed
from side to side even as he dug the claws of his
left hand into the stone that had saved him from
a fall into impossible depths. He felt the firm
smack of flesh against a scraggly hide and heard
a satisfying screech. Still it climbed.
His claws touched metal, and he wrapped his hand
about the weapon of his clan. Charles stretched
out his arm, and extended the Sondeshike over the
top of his back. A wet splatter struck him and it
burned as if he'd been dipped in lye. He twisted
the staff and felt the weight from his back move
with it. He turned his head and glimpsed the
creature's head sliding off the end of the
ferrules. It dropped to the defile and in a
clatter of stone disappeared over the edge.
Charles ground his molars together, got his feet
under him, and dashed back up the incline.
Qan-af-årael had summoned his tree blades and was
carefully nudging the meaty remnants of his last
attacker over the edge of the defile where it
tumbled down into the abyss. Radiant blue eyes
regarded him with disapproval. The presence
filled him. You must not let anger guide you
here. It is a chain that will bind you to this place.
I'm not, I...
His objection was cut short by the sound of small
stones clattering down the slope. The staccato
bouncing lasted for several seconds before
vanishing into silence. Charles held his breath,
fingers tightening about the bloodied haft of his
Sondeshike. Qan-af-årael turned, silvery-black
locks gliding between his pointed ears. Something
hunts us. Let us move. Calm your rage, my little friend.
The Åelf offered him a faint, but reassuring
smile. Charles nodded and continued on their way
along the escarpment. All the while he sought the
Calm within himself, that very center of his
Sondeck that all in his clan were trained to know
and abide in. It proved elusive, for his focus
was on stepping swiftly and with silence across
the shattered rock and loose pebbles covering the
blood-fused sandstone, a task already made
difficult just by the slant of the rock.
Nevertheless, the mere search for his Calm settled the trembling in his flesh.
The depth of his Sondeck imbued him with
preternatural strength. This he felt and savored
against the ravages of this realm. He could feel
the power in each of his limbs and knew it would
not fail him in his time of need. His arms were
limber and his blows could strike mountains. His
claws were hard as steel and could rend the very
rocks around him. His legs could propel him into
the air any height he should require, and no fall could break his bones.
He twitched his whiskers against the cowl
stretched across his muzzle, eyes spread wide and
ears turning to capture the tiniest sounds.
Distant screams lined the other side of the
chasm, but they were too faint to distinguish
with any detail. A cry resounded from above and
both Charles and Qan-af-årael lifted their heads.
A figure, misshaped but not by Metamor, hurtled
down from the top of the escarpment, limbs
flailing. Charles had only time to extend his
Sondeshike before the creature smashed into the
defile not twenty feet away, its body crushed. A
cloud of red dust scattered in the impact so that
he could make out no details of its form. The
shape quivered and groaned even as it slid down
the slope over the edge into the precipice. The
screaming began again; it did not stop this time,
but merely dwindled until the rat could no longer hear the thing's fall.
A faint stirring in the air brushed the whiskers
above his left eye those over his right a year
gone beneath the Shrieker's touch and he lifted
his gaze to the escarpment. Another form hurtled
downward, but this one with bat-like wings
spread, angling its trajectory as if it were
chasing the creature that had already fallen.
Charles snarled and bared his incisors behind the
cowl, snapping the Sondeshike into place. His
fingers turned and turned that metal shaft until
it spun in a silver disc limned crimson from the dust ripped from the rocks.
The creature swung away from the rock wall,
banked its wings, and came about until it had
turned to face them. The wings flapped with a
heavy beat that made the stones bounces on the
defile, scattering them around until they poured
over the edge in a rippling tide. Charles braced
himself against the escarpment with his left
hand, claws digging at the stone. His cowl
slipped across his snout and the red dust tickled
his nose. Fire filled him, a fire he poured into the spinning Sondeshike.
The winged creature bore a long, thick
lizard-like tail covered in spikes ending in a
broad, flat spade that glistened a bilious green.
Muscular arms and legs suggested a form similar
to a Keeper, but infernal with protruding spikes
and vicious claws on an eight-fingered hand. Each
digit splayed in a radial direction as if it each
were a thumb. The head was sunk against its
shoulders and was shaped like its hands and feet,
with eight starfish arms spreading out around a
vacuous black maw that opened like a sphincter
into whatever hellish torments could be imagined
inside. From this abyss poured a burbling
insanity laced with strident peals as of claws
slowly scrapping against glass. A wave of
revulsion struck him and Charles felt a sickness
in his stomach and a weakness in his knees.
The rat snarled deeper, and let his Sondeck hold
him upright in the face of the terror.
Qan-af-årael spread his arms wide, a sheen of
verdant life ringing round the both of them like
a vast shield. The monster dived forward,
crashing into that shield and bending it out of
proportion. But the spell held it at bay for a
moment, long enough for the rat to regain his composure.
Out of the sphincter-like mouth erupted a stream
of perfidious vomit. The leprous mass spread
across the shield and ate through it like a
legion of maggots gorging upon a pit of corpses.
His protector watched this without fear, the tree
blades springing to life in his hands. Charles
kept away from the ichorous mass and kept
spinning his Sondeshike. His thoughts were
jumbled in the face of the winged-horror. As he
ground his teeth together in his attempts to
focus on the hell-beast, an image kept intruding
into his thoughts. It took shape only dimly, as
if in a dark room lit only the smoldering wick of
a single candle. Twilight rust in hue, it seemed
to be metal, thin, and stretched beyond his sight.
His attention was called back when the beast
smacked its tail against the remnant of the
shield, cracking it and bringing it down. The
beast dropped onto the defile as if it had dived
into it. Charles felt the ground shake beneath
his feet, and to his horror, realized that it had
come loose from the rest of the rock around it
and started to slide down the precipice. He
jumped to the side, and then ducked as the
colossal tail swung toward him. He felt the edge
of the of its spade brush against the back of his
left ear, which immediately began to itch and
burn. Charles gasped and clawed at the back of
his ear with his free arm, digging so deeply that
he drew blood as the flesh was shredded.
One of the octopus feet stomped the ground next
to him, and Charles bounced into the air where
eight long fingers wrapped him round the middle,
upending him on a journey toward the yawning maw.
The flash of green from the tree blades
interposed itself and he felt a searing heat at
its presence. The creature howled with a
nightmarish cacophony that afforded the rat a
view down into its gullet. What little light
penetrated to those depths revealed a long
sarcophagus lined with gangrenous, serrated teeth
that would reduce anything consumed to a vitreous
mush, but only after interminable hours of chewing and scraping.
The wound his protector had inflicted convinced
the beast to flap its wings and propel it
backward over the precipice, carrying Charles
with it. Death stood moments away. Charles stared
at it, and felt an enormous hatred fill him. He
had not come this far to become a meal to this
fetid monstrosity. The image in his mind grew in
radiance, and he realized it was a vast chain,
each link of a substance similar to his
Sondeshike; they conveyed strength and power. All
that he should need was his for the asking.
Charles blinked the image away, letting the rage
in him fuel his Sondeck. He spun the Sondeshike
before him, battering it against the creature's
head. The eight tentacles ringing that maw
quivered and bent beneath his assault, and
another scream of protest erupted from it,
bringing with it an otherworldly hissing as of a
thousand distant screams all clawing one atop the other.
Its arm pulled the rat away from its maw, and now
he could see the wound Qan-af-årael had
inflicted. A deep gash rent into its chest,
leaving behind a bright, red scar into which a
jaundiced set of ribs protruded. Seething,
Charles drove one of the brass ferrules beneath
the bones, and then spun outward. The front of
the creature's chest exploded in a spray of blood
which coated the rat's face and chest. It flung
its arms wide in a roar of anguish and Charles
found himself flying through the air.
The precipice and escarpment twirled in his
vision, but he demanded it stop with a furious
beat of his heart. For just a moment everything
seemed clear to him and his trajectory his own to
command. His paws landed on the defile, claws
digging into the stone for purchase, as momentum
returned and he buckled beneath its pitiless
strength. But his grip held and he readied his staff for another volley.
The octopoid horror let lose another vomitous
mass, but Qan-af-årael had slipped behind it.
With a downward strike the tree blades shore the
beast through the middle down to its waist. It
quivered one last time, before, limp and oozing
blood and puss from every sinew, it collapsed
against the defile and slid down into the waiting
abyss. Only a wide smear of its vomit and blood
remained to show it had ever been.
Charles took a deep breath and reached one had
toward the ruin of his left ear, wincing as he
did so. There seemed to him a strange weight
against his shoulders and around his neck, but
felt nothing there apart from the cowl of his
tattered cloak. The flesh of his ear still itched
even though he'd already ripped it apart, and it
took all of his will power to keep from tearing
into it further. Instead he grabbed at the collar
of his tunic and tightened his grip. A faint
rattling of chains echoed in his mind.
Qan-af-årael surveyed him and a glimmer of a
frown crossed his lips. He crossed the short
distance to where the rat stood and laid a gentle
hand upon his torn ear. The presence filled him
with a warmth that cooled the anger of battle. No
mortal wounds taken in this place will leave with
it. Your ear will be restored to you once you
cross the bridge. But a mortal wound if not
healed by my hand will trap you here.
The rat stood straighter, snout turned in a
defiant moue. I will take no such injury from
anything we face here! Not with your protection, Master Åelf!
There are wounds mortal to the soul as well you
must ware. Do not listen to the false promise of anger.
He could only grimace anew and nod his head. The
scent of blood staining his cloak nauseated him
but he tried to ignore it. The vision of the vast
chain dimmed in his eyes but did not go dark. He
glanced down at his cloak and wiped a smear of
blood covering the Long Scout insignia on the
front breast. These foul beasts would not
besmirch the company of friends and family.
Charles lifted his good ear at the sound of
baying. Qan-af-årael glanced behind them but
there was nothing to see but the escarpment, the
defile, and clouds of red blistering the horizon.
The hunter is closing on his prey. We must make haste.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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